


Bending With the Storm

by waitingtobelit



Series: cutting through the twilight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Magical Accidents, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingtobelit/pseuds/waitingtobelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius wakes up with wings on his ankles; Courfeyrac still proves charming in spite of his misfired spells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bending With the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: So this is the first part of the Hogwarts AU I’ve been planning for some time now. I’m experimenting with writing in a nonlinear fashion, so the stories I write in this verse don’t necessarily follow in chronological order. Also, I may have had too much fun naming Courfeyrac and Marius' pets.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with either Les Miserables or Harry Potter. This was written purely for recreational purposes.
> 
> Warnings: References to death.

Vague humming, like the sound of heat on a summer day, spurs Marius into fully waking. With a yawn and a quick stretch of his arms, he opens his eyes to ruffled sheets and an empty space next to him on the bed. He sits up, the humming noise regulated to the back of his thoughts as his eyes dart around the tiny bedroom, lingering on the crevice between the overly crowded bookshelf (books, potions, and charms galore, to say nothing of Marius’ button collection) and the cracked, partially open door leading to the bathroom which barely holds enough space for their toilet and tub, let alone the excess of debris left over from their closet. The walls around him still shift between emerald and lilac, he realizes, as embarrassment for his failed attempt at a transfiguration spell the night before warms his cheeks. (Although it still isn’t as bad as the time he accidentally turned Bossuet into a tea cup, complete with intricate floral pattern and filled with actual tea. “Valerian root,” Joly had scrunched his nose in disgust as he leaned over to catch a whiff of his closest friend while trying not to laugh.)

He jerks a bit when a dark mark flickers in the right corner before evaporating. His entire body jolts as though struck by electricity. He brushes it off as shock in response to what he just saw, ignoring the odd lightness to his ankles and wondering if said shape were not just a lingering remnant of his dream. Though, from what he can recall of his dream, nothing in the form of a dark mark appeared to have taken root there. He dreamt of Hogwarts of course, and of misshapen potions and afternoons spent lazing by the lake. Golden tendrils and dark curls preceded him as he turned every corner, and he shudders as he recalls the singed edges of the journal still filled with pressed flowers abandoned on the table.

Although the dark days of Voldemort have been over for some time now, though he had been but a child at the end of the war, Marius still recalls the desperation of not knowing who to trust and the constant fear of coming across the name of a loved one in the obituaries, provided the Death Eaters thought of the death as a useful means of further tormenting the victim’s surviving friends and family. (And if you hadn’t read it in the papers, you’d heard it on Potterwatch, provided you knew the password. The broadcast made damn sure to read out every name with reverence, which almost seemed worse than scanning across a haphazard list composed of partially imagined names, considering everyone appeared to know each victim personally. Marius has a gift for holding onto each expression of grief witnessed in his heart the same way he reverently utters his father’s name before he goes to sleep every night.)

The silhouettes of those he’s lost in battle still waltz around his memories, elegant ghosts preserved forever in his still aching heart.

_No, stop it. You’ve spent enough of your life dwelling on it. You can’t change anything. Stop._

He repeats the words in his head, a familiar enough refrain for a familiar enough habit of waking up with dregs of the past clinging to the roof of his mouth.

Marius exhales without realizing he was ever holding his breath as echoes of haphazard footsteps reach him from the kitchen just down the hallway, along with the barest whispers of incoherent mumbling. He shoves his sadness beneath possibilities of the day ahead, a habit he’s nurtured since Hogwarts.

Though he can’t make out full words, Marius can tell Courfeyrac is cursing by the vehemence with which he espouses his words in succession through the crack beneath their bedroom door. He inhales deeply before shaking away lingering moments of the past, like dusting cobwebs, as he runs a hand through his hair, messier than usual even without Courfeyrac’s influence. Too tired to try and make out Courfeyrac’s words, he makes to lay back down when the humming increases and Marius recognizes the feeling of itching on his ankles, and the heightened awareness that sparks through him with each movement of his feet against the sheets. He lifts the blankets and winds up falling off the bed in the process of what he finds hiding underneath, arms flailing about like a wind-up doll thrown from the shelf.

He never quite hits the ground, caught mere inches above the floor by the constant motion of the wings sprouted overnight from his ankles.

“Afjjgirjykntj!” He flinches as his voice cracks around the exclamation he attempts to make as he flounders.

“Marius?” Courfeyrac’s dark curls bound into the door frame before the rest of him. He looks like a shamed puppy, chewing on his bottom lip with the rest of his face contorted in an expression of concern. Marius knows the feeling well; he’s usually the one making that face as he apologizes for another shattered glass and/or a friend turned into a teacup.

“Um. How?” Marius sputters as he manages to ground himself, though his ankles won’t stop itching or popping up into the air. He finally catches full sight of the wings, delicate looking in shades of lilac. They are butterfly wings, he realizes the longer he stares at them, a pair for each ankle.

“Well, I was trying to be all gallant and make you breakfast.” Courfeyrac begins, waving his arms about in a series of dramatic gestures. He almost glows against the color shifting walls behind him, and Marius finds himself thinking of fairy dust and afternoons peering into the Forbidden Forest for a glimpse at a wild unicorn just for the hell of it. “But then you just looked so cute sleeping I got distracted. Did you know you drool in your sleep? And you whimper, too.  Just thought you should know, in case you forgot. Also your hair gets into your face and you look like a kitten when you curl in on yourself. But I digress.” Courfeyrac pauses, miming each gesture with florid enthusiasm. Marius wants to inquire further about Courfeyrac watching him sleep, but then, recalling his own habit of such (especially during their later years in school, before he could even begin to acknowledge what he felt for Courfeyrac), supposes he has no room to talk, anyway.

“Anyway, I wanted to charm the alarm clock into serenading you with Disney songs to wake you up. But then, you had the nerve to mumble ‘Courf’ under your breath with that goofy grin of yours, so my hand slipped. So really, this is entirely your fault, dear.” Courfeyrac grins, eyes twinkling as he rocks back on the heels of his feet like a child.

“How is any of this my fault? All I did was sleep!” Marius flails as his ankles pop up, and suddenly he’s floating once again. He sputters, curses, and tries to force his body back on the ground. In retaliation, his body only bounces up again with greater force.

“Just hazarding a guess here, but I think you flailing about like a choking fish might not be working in your favor.” Courfeyrac says, barely suppressing a grin.

“You’re not helping!” Marius pouts, which only causes Courfeyrac to burst out into a rakish smile.

“Well, you haven’t asked yet.” Courfeyrac says with his arms folded across his chest and his face alight with rogue amusement. “And you should probably calm yourself a bit, before you-”

His head collides with the bedside table, an ugly piece of carpentry in the shape of a centaur carved for them by Bahorel, with a loud smack and several obscene words spilling from his lips like scattered candy. Marius winces as the sudden pain bursting from the back of his head only further encourages his rambling.

“How can I calm down? I’ve sprouted wings on my ankles! What if I crash into something worse than this table? What if I float all the way to America? What if – mmphf!”

Courfeyrac moves to his side quickly, cradling his head over his lap as he kisses Marius, deeply, with the patience of the ocean tides. Marius flails for a few seconds before returning the kiss. Gradually, Marius calms as Courfeyrac rubs one hand soothingly against the back of Marius’ head and keeps the other resting gently on the center of Marius’ chest. He swallows Marius’ fading exclamations, feels them transform into miniscule whimpers against his tongue. Marius tastes Courfeyrac’s smile as his own head settles on his lap.

A piercing screech followed by a yowl pulls them apart sooner than Marius would have liked.

“For the love of Merlin’s beard!” Courfeyrac leans back to glance down the hall towards the kitchen, from which the noises appear to have originated. “I think Lady Bracknell is back from Combeferre’s, finally.”

“Sounds like she’s provoking poor Tilney.” Marius observes as he moves to sit up. Courfeyrac fixes him with a look.

“Lady Bracknell is much too dignified to provoke cats too curious for their own good.” He huffs out his chest a bit, which renders him rather owl-like. Marius snorts as he rolls his eyes, recalling Courfeyrac’s lack of ability to find fault with his owl even when they first obtained her.

They had come across Lady Bracknell during a trip to Hogsmeade on a rainy afternoon in April two years ago. Courfeyrac had dragged Marius out from his books to meander almost aimlessly through the magical village, holding hands and giggling as though they were still schoolboys. Courfeyrac had insisted on jumping through every puddle until they were both thoroughly soaked; Marius, after twenty minutes of indulging him, had pulled them both into the nearest shop to dry off, a recently opened pet shop by the name of Vane Vixen.

In spite of its rather cramped store front squished between the end of an alley and second-hand book store, Vane Vixen proved deceptively large on the inside, like a wizard’s camping tent. Rows and rows of supplies divided the vivid, crimson carpet as various animals of all shapes, colors, and sizes called out to the pair of them, soaked and shivering. One screech in particular had caught Courfeyrac off-guard, and before Marius had been able to do so much as sputter, Courfeyrac began inquiring after a bawdy-looking brown owl peering out from behind her cage with eyes like marbles and a beak as sharp as Courfeyrac’s own wit.

“I think she wants to go home with you.” The shopkeeper, a lovely, lanky girl with curls as dark as Courfeyrac’s, approached them with a knowing smile. “Owls often choose their humans. Shall I take her out for you?”

“Well, this owl has great taste.” Courfeyrac had grinned. “Yes, please.”

Marius rolled his eyes, muttering “don’t encourage him” under his breath as the shopkeeper, whose name was Romilda, judging by the pink embroidery on her robes, brought the barn owl around to Courfeyrac’s waiting arm. Courfeyrac had cooed as the bird settled on his arm and allowed him to stroke her feathers. Marius had only been able to sigh at the crinkles around his boyfriend’s eyes and the way his smile threatened to pull his face apart. He’d begun to scan the various cages and food supplies a moment later, resigned to the adoration on Courfeyrac’s face.

Marius had started when the shopkeeper pulled him by the hand, steering him towards the left corner of the store, towards the back.

“I’ve got someone to melt even your grumpy heart, freckles.” Romilda had said as she led him into a back room divided by various pens. As soon as he’d heard the first meow, Marius knew his was a hopeless case.

A tiny, orange head from the pen furthest from the pair of them popped up like a jack-in-the-box and let out a tiny mewl. Marius’ heart fell through his stomach as he’d tried not to trip over himself on the way to the pen.

They had left Hogsemeade with Lady Bracknell and Tilney both.

“Honestly, Marius, Lady Bracknell is only announcing her presence home. It’s hardly her fault Tilney doesn’t appreciate her.” Courfeyrac says, arms now folded across his chest.

“I think you mean your weapon of mass destruction covered in feathers is terrorizing my poor Tilney.” Marius says, leaning up to try and catch a glimpse over Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Again.”

“Lady Bracknell would leave Tilney alone if only Tilney would learn to keep his paws to himself.” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes.

“Tilney wouldn’t have to use his paws if Lady Bracknell would learn to keep her beak to herself!” Marius retorts as Courfeyrac starts to poke his arms. “Courfeyrac, stop it!”

“What? I’m only pawing at you harmlessly.” Courfeyrac’s eyes glow electric in the light of the walls shifting back to green again.

Marius barely has time to comprehend the familiar spark alighting in Courfeyrac’s gaze before Courfeyrac’s hands are at his sides, ruthlessly tickling him in his most sensitive crevices as he starts to quiver in laughter.

“Courfeyrac!” He wheezes in between giggles, as Courfeyrac refuses to relent, gathering Marius into his arms as they fall into a pile of limbs on the wooden floor. They are making as much of a racket as their pets, and Marius hopes (not for the first time) that the silencing charm they’ve cast upon their apartment still holds. Though, considering some of their more vocal activities, he wouldn’t be surprised if they accidentally broke it one night after an abundance of wine and filthy whispers building in promise like a crescendo.

Marius jolts when Courfeyrac’s fingers glances against one of his ankle wings, breath hitching as pleasure crackles within him like wayward embers. His chest constricts as Courfeyrac pulls back, eyeing him with concern. He can no longer distinguish Lady Bracknell and Tilney’s racket from the increased beating of his own heart, pulsing through him like a drumming song.

“Marius? Are you alright?” He looks like he should be the one with wings, his eyes wide and his hair as curly as strands ivy as it frames his face.

“Um. My wings are sensitive.” Marius squeaks, red blooming across his face as he avoids Courfeyrac’s gaze.

“…Is that so?” Marius finds his breath hitching again; he shivers in Courfeyrac’s arms as the other man pulls him closer, leaning forward to trail one hand lightly down his leg. Marius squirms but doesn’t pull away as he tries not to whimper.

“I suppose,” Courfeyrac whispers directly into his ear, “I shouldn’t have been thinking about last night when I was trying to wake you.”

His fingers catch the edge of one the wings on Marius’ left ankle in time with his words, and Marius mewls.

“Perhaps my lacking ability in charms isn’t without its benefits.” Courfeyrac says, turning Marius in his arms kiss him thoroughly. Marius whimpers into his mouth as Courfeyrac strokes his wings in time with the meeting of their lips.

His body arches as Courfeyrac inspires all of him to take flight.


End file.
